December
by Ancalime8301
Summary: Frodo goes to Buckland for Yule.


A/N: Follows "October" and "November", but stands reasonably well on its own.

* * *

"You know we'd be happy for you to spend the holiday with us," Sam said as Frodo was passing his baggage to Merry to be loaded on the wagon.

"Yes, I know, but I wanted to let you two have the smial to yourselves for a while. It'll be a long time before you can be truly alone again," Frodo said, winking at Rosie, who blushed and touched her rounded belly. Frodo kissed her on the forehead and she tugged his hat more firmly over his ears. He grinned and embraced Sam briefly. "I promise, I'll be back and in your hair again in a couple of weeks. Now get Rosie back inside before she freezes. It's cold out here."

"Have a good Yule, Mr. Frodo," Sam called as Frodo climbed onto the wagon seat next to a patiently waiting Merry.

"Enjoy yours as well," Frodo replied, "and give my good wishes to your gaffer." He waved as the wagon pulled away from the gate and Bag End disappeared behind them.

Merry and Frodo rode in silence to Hobbiton until they reached the road toward Bywater and, much further away, Buckland. A number of hobbits along the way greeted Frodo as the wagon passed by.

"They seem happy to see you. Perhaps you ought to reconsider being such a recluse and socialize once in a while," Merry commented.

"Of course they are happy to see the Master of Bag End. I'm a far better landlord than Lotho was, so they put up with me when I choose to make an appearance. They still call me Mad Baggins when I'm not around," Frodo said dismissively.

"That doesn't bother you?"

"Why should it? It's truer now than it ever has been. I asked my gardener and his wife to live with me. I don't go out unless I have to. I'm still a bachelor and intend to stay that way. I have strange scars. The good people of Hobbiton don't know what else to do with me except call me mad. So I let them. There are days I feel mad, so it's not entirely untrue anyway."

His bluntness seemed to surprise Merry, who sat in silence for several minutes. "If it doesn't bother you, then I won't care either. But you deserve better."

"You think so because you know me and what has happened outside the Shire. They don't understand what we experienced, Merry, and I would rather they remain ignorant than have to face what we did."

"As would I," Merry agreed thoughtfully. "Well, if you know they're still calling you that, then you must have the rest of the gossip we didn't get to last night." Merry had arrived at Bag End yesterday afternoon by way of Tuckborough, and they hadn't had much time to catch up on much more than the family news.

"Sam did cover the most interesting parts," Frodo said, sitting back and pulling up his scarf a bit as he relayed the rest of the news he knew from the Hobbiton area.

He had long since run out of gossip by the time they reached the Pincup road and the outskirts of Frogmorton, and had demanded that Merry tell him what had been going on in Buckland and what the plans were for the Yule celebration. Merry rambled on for a while in answer to Frodo's questions, but they returned to companionable silence and didn't talk much when they paused to have lunch in Frogmorton, stiffly climbing down from the wagon and welcoming the warmth of the indoors.

After they reluctantly climbed back onto the wagon, Frodo took advantage of the opportunity to bring up a particular issue with Merry. "So, I hear a certain lass has her eye on you..." Frodo remarked casually and watched carefully for Merry's response.

Merry stiffened and pinked a bit, then tried to control his tone as he asked, "And where did you hear that? I would think you'd know better than to believe everything you hear."

"I have a very reliable source," he replied vaguely, trying not to grin in triumph as Merry shifted uneasily.

"Do you now? And who would that be? Forgive me for doubting that any lass would confide in you," Merry teased, trying to distract attention away from himself.

Frodo would not be deterred so easily. "No, not the lass herself, but someone very close to her..." he trailed off as he observed his cousin out of the corner of his eye while appearing indifferent.

Merry was quite red in the face now, but remained silent. "Are you going to put a name to your very reliable source?"

"Fatty Bolger," Frodo replied airily, and was delighted to see Merry blush clear to the points of his ears. He laughed and heartily clapped Merry on the back. "Are you as smitten with her as she is with you? Fatty said Estella practically lives for the days you call."

Merry mumbled something, and was suddenly intent on the reins in his hands. His face was still bright red with embarrassment.

"Don't worry, I won't tease you . . . much," Frodo said mischievously.

Merry fussed with the reins, fidgeted with his mittens, shifted on the seat, and did anything he could to avoid Frodo's gaze. Frodo tugged at his arm. "Merry, don't be like that," he wheedled. "I'm happy for you. I think you two are a good match."

Merry finally spoke. "Really?"

"Yes, really. Now tell me, how do you honestly feel about her?"

"I . . . it's . . . it's hard to put into words," he said haltingly.

"Would you marry her?" Frodo persisted.

Merry nodded. "Yes. I mean, I think so. If she would want to . . ."

Frodo laughed. "I think the answer to that will be evident if you spend more time with her."

"But you think we would be a good match? Mum and Da are skeptical, so I haven't told very many people in case it ends badly."

"Does Pippin know?"

"Apparently Fatty had mentioned it to him, too. Pip was almost insufferable the night before last. I told him I'd return the favor when he fancies a lass."

Frodo chuckled. "I wonder how long it will take him to get to that point."

"Whenever it is, I'll be ready to tease him mercilessly," Merry said cheerfully.

* * *

The week before Yule passed quickly for Frodo in a haze of teas with a number of his aunts and evenings with many of the uncles, catching up on the happenings in various parts of the Shire. Every so often they would ask a question about what happened when he was away for that year, which Frodo would sidestep by neatly changing the subject. He was almost relieved when the night before first Yule arrived, as it meant the next day would bring many more relatives so he would no longer be the center of everyone's attention. Perhaps he would even be able to slip away for a while.

First Yule morning dawned cold and grey with periodic smatterings of a freezing rain. Well-bundled hobbits poured in to Brandy Hall from every direction, the noise level of the corridors quickly rising to a deafening roar. Frodo hovered in and around one of the parlors all morning, to put in an appearance; he knew if he didn't, the relatives would seek him out -somehow they all knew he had come, despite not officially confirming the visit until a fortnight ago- so he might as well get it over with.

Lunch was a trial, as he somehow managed to sit between the chattiest members of his extended family. Or at least it seemed that way. Worse, he couldn't even remember who they were, exactly. And they seemed unnaturally fixated on his missing finger.

As soon as Frodo could slip away unnoticed, he did. He stole to his room, pulled on his coat and cloak, and dug through his pack. When he found the wrapped package he was looking for, he slipped it into his coat pocket and patted it, then quickly walked to the closest door to the outdoors.

Once outside, he heaved a deep sigh of relief to be away from the press of people, and slowly began to walk around the hill, enjoying the silence and solitude despite the cold. It began to rain lightly as he veered away from the hill and toward his destination. The graveyard was some distance away from the Hall, on account of hobbits being the suspicious sort that feared the ghosts of those who passed on would wander the smial if not laid to rest a sufficient distance away.

The graveyard was empty of any other living hobbit, for which Frodo was grateful. He easily found the graves he sought along one edge, though there were more graves between the entrance and these graves than there used to be. But that was what happened when time passed.

As Frodo stood before the flat stone bearing his parents' names, he slowly pulled the bundle from his pocket. He let the handkerchiefs fall open to reveal the silver circlet Gandalf had placed on his head at Cormallen. Aragorn had pressed him and Sam to take the circlets back to the Shire as a mark of the honour given to them by Men, but neither Frodo nor Sam felt comfortable wearing such finery among other hobbits, and nor was there ever a suitable occasion where such things would seem appropriate. Sam had taken his to a silversmith and requested a ring be made for Rosie from it. This he gave to her on their wedding day in mimicry of the Big Folk's tradition of exchanging rings as a token of marriage. Frodo kept his circlet safely locked away and had devoted much thought to what to do with it.

The answer had come to him shortly after he decided to accept the offer to sail West. Since he would not die in the Shire, there would not be a grave here bearing his name, but he desired to leave something of himself behind, to make his small mark lest life go on and he be forgotten. Thus, he would leave the circlet, something tangible, and he would leave it at the graves of his parents. What better place to leave his own farewell token than with the bones of those who brought him into being?

Frodo knelt before the stone, heedless of the rain-soaked ground that clung to his skin and trousers, and leaned the silver circlet against the stone. He sat back and thoughtfully regarded the names, slightly obscured by the top arc of the circlet. He allowed himself to surrender to grief -not for his parents, for those memories had lost their pain and held only a sense of nostalgia- but for the life he did not get to live, for the lives of those he loved that he would not be here to witness.

As he sat in contemplation, the cold drizzle began falling in fluffy white flakes of snow, gently landing on his shoulders with a soft whisper. The snow came steadily down, in a short time already beginning to form a soft blanket insulating the ground and frosting the bare tree branches. Frodo remained in meditative silence for quite a while, until he felt ready to face other hobbits again.

* * *

"Frodo, where have you been?" Merry demanded when he spotted his snow-bedecked cousin coming down the hall.

"I went outside for a bit. I needed some air."

Merry eyed him critically, noting the thin layer of mud on his knees and shins, but did not mention it. "All right, then," he said finally. "But promise me next time you won't just disappear."

"Yes, mother," Frodo said sarcastically. "Was there some reason for my absence being noticeable, or are you just being a mother hen?"

"My father was looking for you a while ago, but I don't think it was important. Anyway, it's almost time for dinner."

Frodo nodded and started to pass Merry, but Merry grabbed his elbow. "You may want to do something about your legs and trousers before the aunts see you all muddy. You know what they would say about being respectable and all that nonsense," Merry said quietly, with a small grin.

Frodo looked down at himself, then shrugged. "What if I want to uphold the Mad Baggins name?" he asked sardonically.

"I wouldn't recommend it with some of these folk. They might take it upon themselves to throw you in the Brandywine to bring you back to your senses," Merry said, a vague disquiet growing in his mind about Frodo's behavior.

"You may be right," Frodo conceded with a smile. "I'm sorry, I'm feeling a mite peckish, being around so many people. Crowds are not my forte."

"They never have been," Merry agreed, his disquiet alleviated somewhat by Frodo's words. "You'd better hurry to clean up. You know how Ma is about getting the Yule dinner started on time."

"Yes, I'll be there shortly," Frodo promised, and hurried to his room. As he wiped off his legs and changed his breeches, part of him wished the time to sail were sooner. Pretending that nothing was going on, that he would be back for the holiday again next year was becoming difficult, especially in the face of Merry's concern about him, his reputation and wellbeing. Would he still try to defend his cousin from the 'Mad Baggins' name when that cousin left this world with the elves? When should Frodo tell Merry that he would be leaving forever?

* * *

The day after Frodo left to return to Bag End, Merry ventured out to the graveyard. He didn't much like the place, but he understood what drove Frodo to make a visit nearly every time he was in Buckland. Merry was sure this was where Frodo went that Yule afternoon when he disappeared for several hours, but something felt different this time, and that niggling sense is what drove Merry to retrace his cousin's steps.

It took him a while to find the graves of Drogo and Primula Baggins, not having looked for them for many, many years. He expected to find some sort of flowers or decorative plants left there by Frodo -he had seen his cousin take bunches of wildflowers to place on the graves during summer visits- but instead found a piece of silver jewellery leaning against the stone. He squatted down to get a better look, and blankly regarded it for several minutes as he tried to figure out why Frodo would leave this at the grave site. What was it?

Recognition hit him like a kick in the stomach and he sat down heavily. Cormallen, those silver crown-like things Frodo and Sam wore at the feast. Frodo had left his at his parents' grave. But why? Why would he leave something so valuable, so precious, out in the open in a graveyard of all places?

Merry had a sinking feeling that he wouldn't figure out the answer until it was too late. But too late for what?


End file.
